


This Is The Best Birthday Ever

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: Sometimes We Take Chances [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Birthday Cake, Children, Harry's Birthday, M/M, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Draco is going to make the perfect cake for Harry's birthday. Isn't he?





	This Is The Best Birthday Ever

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is six months after [Hum Hallelujah](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8722552/chapters/19997533), after Draco's sold his cafe inside the bookstore. 
> 
> I began this in July for Harry's B'day celebration on LJ. I'm thankful that it's complete, and I hope you like it. It's only partially beta'd-- [GeronimoandbeMAGnificent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geronimoandbemagnificent/pseuds/Geronimoandbemagnificent) was wonderful and any remaining errors are mine alone. 
> 
> The title comes from a Kanye West song, Blame Game.

“My birthday is today,” Harry hinted loudly over the noise of four children who were supposed to be eating breakfast and were instead acting out _Spongebob_ at top volume.

Draco smiled at his pancakes and cut another bite with his fork. “I had no idea,” he said, feigning ignorance. “I wish you had let me know, Potter. I might have been able to plan something.”

Harry spluttered, but Lily cut him off, shouting through the pancakes and syrup filling her small mouth. “Daddy Draco! He said it like a billion times this week.” She stood on her chair and pointed her fork at Harry to emphasize her point. “Papa says his birthday should be a holiday because he's the best dad. Ever.”

“No way,” Scorpius shouted with his mouth full, a rare display of bad manners. “ _My_ dad’s the best dad.” He waved his fork at Lily, sending pancake bits and drops of syrup across the table. Draco cringed at the formerly clean floor, but Scorpius paused, empty tines propped at his lips. “But your dad _is_ nice, and so's DadTed.”

“Thank you very much, Scorpius. Now Lily, let's get back to what your dad said.” Draco smirked at Harry who now had sticky, syrupy fingers as he attempted to shush Lily and wrangle her back into her seat.

The staccato _beep beep_ of their camp van’s horn interrupted the chaos and left Draco’s question unanswered.

The kids scrambled to grab their camp bags and rush out the door; Harry pulled each one into a hug and planted a kiss on their heads before they made it outside.

“Remember you’re meeting me at the coffee shop after camp! Scorpius, be sure to help them with the Underground.” Scorpius waved behind him, signaling he’d heard Draco, but didn't turn away from his conversation with Albus.

Harry watched the kids tug at each other as they climbed into the van. “When Ginny and I split, I was worried about moving here because of them. But, it’s good, yeah?”

“It’s good.” Draco slipped behind Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. They’d lived together six months, but Draco could have told Harry six seconds after their first kiss that it would be bloody perfect.

A charm here and there around Draco’s flat—more bedrooms, fewer beige walls and a lot more Holyhead Harpies emerald and gold than Draco preferred, but walls could be repainted; happy children were worth that and more. But Draco’s favorite renovation was the strong silencing charm they cast on the Master Bedroom. The past six months had been great days and even better nights, and without discussing it in detail, Draco knew he and Harry were all in.

When the camp van pulled away, Draco yanked Harry into the house and crowded him against the closed front door. Harry smelled of butter and sweet maple syrup, and for Draco, Parisian cologne couldn’t have been more arousing.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Draco dragged his palms down Harry’s chest and let his fingers drift to Harry’s belt. “How about a Happy Birthday blowjob,” Draco asked, nipping Harry’s jaw. He lingered near Harry’s ear and let the answer hang between them--knew from the way Harry melted against him, the press of Harry’s stiffening cock against his thigh, that this was a Very Good Idea.

Draco fumbled with Harry’s belt buckle, but before he could open it, Harry grabbed his hands. “I can't. I really can't,” Harry sighed. He kissed Draco, soft and warm, but Draco felt desire simmering under the surface of the kiss.

He smiled and dropped to his knees, mouthing at Harry's obvious bulge. Draco wanted to feel Harry’s cock, heavy and slick on his tongue. To use every nuance he’d learned in the past six months to drive Harry to the very edge and then once more until Harry spilled over Draco’s tongue. Draco pressed at his own prick, hard in his thin work trousers. Yeah, he needed this, too. “I'll be quick,” Draco said, looking up at Harry and sliding his tongue across his bottom lip. “Please.”

“I’d be quick, too,” Harry said, pressing his hands to his face,” but not faster than--”

“Harry! Are you ready to--oh Merlin’s saggy ball sack.” Ron covered his eyes as he walked through the fireplace. “When are you two going to stop that?!”

“When will you learn to Firecall before you just barge in?” Draco asked with a hint of snark. He stood up and didn’t even attempt to be discreet as he rearranged himself in his jeans. If Weasley didn't like it, he could use the door like a civilized person instead of Flooing.

Ron looked a bit too happy at Draco's discomfort. He grinned as he handed Harry a small box wrapped in garish orange paper. “I wanted to give you your birthday gift before our meeting.”

“Same,” Draco grumbled under his breath as he glared at Ron.

Ron snorted a laugh and nodded at Harry's trousers. “Do you need to--uh--take care of that?”

Harry shook his head and tore the wrapping off the gift. Ron watched Harry and grinned; Draco did not trust him--that disgusting color could only mean--

“Centerline Cannons tickets! Fucking awesome!” Harry shouted, high-fiving Ron. He dropped the box onto the table, pecked Draco on the cheek, and he and Weasley rushed through the Floo because they were already late for their meeting. Harry called out “love you!” before disappearing in a whirl of emerald flames and black cloak.

“Me, too,” Draco answered, knowing Harry was long gone. He _scourgified_ the dining room (Merlin help him, there was syrup everywhere) and then Floo’d to the coffee shop he and Harry had opened when he’d sold **Babbity Rabbity** after Christmas.

Starting a catering/coffee shop had been easy; naming it had almost torn them apart (well, not really, but it made for a good story, Draco thought.) **Draco’s** or **Malfoy’s** sounded “posh and pretentious” (Oh, Harry had slept in the lounge that night). They’d argued for more than a week, with each successful suggestion worse than the one before. Harry, who’d spent most of the nights on the couch, finally cracked. “I swear to Merlin, picking a fucking name will be grounds for divorce.”

Draco had stopped. And snickered. “Grounds for Divorce? That’s a great name for a coffee shop. Grounds for Divorce.” He had laughed until his sides ached from the strain.

Harry’s cheeks, splotchy, red against his pale, angry face, had refused to laugh, until he couldn’t hold back any longer. “It is. But it’s a shit name for a wedding catering company.”

In spite of that, **Grounds for Divorce** was it.

The store was dark and cool; this one day each week, the air conditioning felt arctic without the overbearing heat from the ovens. Draco rubbed his arms as he adjusted the thermostat. He brewed the first pot of coffee and browsed the _Daily Prophet_ to catch up on news and gossip. His advertisement for his Diagon Alley location looked perfect; he’d sprung for the extra Galleons to include a photograph of a witch taking a generous bite of a pastry. Fingers crossed, it would bring in plenty of customers, even if they were only hoping the beautiful witch worked at the shop.

Over his first cup of coffee, Draco read and responded to emails from his Muggle clients. At the Islington location, he adhered to the rule he’d set for himself at **Babbity Rabbity.** He ran the store the Muggle way, succeeding because of hard work and not magic. But he did sneak dried, ground Dirigible Plum into the standard coffee grounds before brewing. He’d originally been skeptical that they would “help one accept the extraordinary” (as Luna Lovegood’s father had expounded), but he couldn’t deny that he sold more coffee than any shop in the area.

By the end of the third (mostly cold) cup of coffee, Draco had returned all his voicemails, except for the one from the long-winded man representing the Islington Council for Beautification. Mr. Thomas Bryce had rambled through the full message time to simply ask for a return call. Draco would need at least one more coffee before he could face that.

Instead, he logged into Pinterest and opened the recipe for Harry’s birthday cake: a rich chocolate layer cake glazed with silky ganache. He’d top it with 6 white fondant flowers, representing the four children and the two of them, how their family had grown and blossomed. He measured the flour and cocoa powder as carefully and slowly as any potion and added it to the mixing bowl. Professor Snape would have been proud. 

Once Draco slid the cake pans into the oven and set the timer, he poured the last of the coffee into his mug and returned the call to Mr. Thomas Bryce.

Who talked about the Council and its work. And their desire to beautify the area. And their upcoming Art Show and Street Faire. And his granddaughter. And her university work. And his own booth at the Street Faire selling Renaissance Masques.

By the time Draco extricated himself from the call, the cake was baked, cooled and waiting to be glazed. Mr. Bryce seemed to barely notice Draco’s absence from the conversation; Draco commented at the appropriate intervals as he began the ganache.

“Masques take quite a bit of time to create…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Draco murmured as he chopped the bittersweet chocolate and added the warmed cream, stirring it gently until it was glossy and perfect. He poured the warm ganache over the center of the first layer, allowing it spread over the cake, before carefully aligning the second layer.

Draco drizzled the remaining ganache to cover the top and sides and then stepped back to inspect the cake. It looked elegant, and when the ganache cooled, it would be sinfully decadent. Perfect for Harry’s birthday. And perhaps, if there were a tiny bit left on his plate, Draco would daub it on Harry, leaving streaks of chocolate and cake crumbs, for him to lick away. And if Draco slipped and nipped a bit of Harry’s skin…

“…feathers of course are the very best…”

Draco set the cake aside to cool and cleared a space to begin the fondant flowers. The airtight containers stored neatly in the cabinet and were labeled by color. Red, pink, lilac, sky blue, even black.

No white.

“Dammit!” Draco cursed under his breath. He scrubbed his face; the frustration he felt creeping in, the tight pain in his neck would eventually snake upward and blossom into a headache. He stretched his shoulders and focused on his options as Mr. Bryce chattered away. 

Whatever he decided, he needed to do it quickly. In the next 10 minutes, the kids would barrel through the door demanding his attention.

“—mold of the person’s face is of course the most helpful—”

Marshmallows! He’d hidden a bag for guilty-pleasure snacking. It would be more than enough to make marshmallow fondant. Draco pulled the bag from the cabinet above the fridge.

There was maybe _\--maybe--_ a handful of marshmallows remaining in the bag, and each was now a tiny pebble.

Draco anger spiked, hot and loud. They _knew_ better than to eat at the store without asking. They _knew_ it. And what the fuck could he do now. The cake would be nothing without the flowers. “Shit—”

“Well!” Mr. Bryce gasped, openly irritated. “If you feel that way about my masks, I can certainly find—”

Draco pressed his palm to his forehead in frustration. "I am sorry, Mr. Bryce. Something exploded in my kitchen.” Draco didn’t explain that it was his temper that exploded.

“Still. Perhaps I should—”

Draco scrambled to fix this cock-up; the business was too new to drive potential catering customers away. As Mr. Bryce dithered, Draco ran to the front door, opened it, then slammed it shut. “Sir, my children have just arrived from camp. If you don’t mind, I’ll stop by your office tomorrow with a variety of biscuits and tea cakes for you to sample for the street fair.”

Mr. Bryce cheered at the suggestion. “Certainly, lad. And I will show you my masks!”

“Brilliant. I’m looking forward to it.” Draco mustered as much enthusiasm as he could before he punched the _end call_ button, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he wanted it to be, and sank into one of the overstuffed armchairs in the store’s lobby. “Yeah. Bloody brilliant. Just. Brilliant.

The kids tumbled through the doorway, pulling each other out of the way to be first. Draco panicked when they saw the cake, pictured their dusty fingerprints smudging the ganache. He scrambled out of the chair to move the cake out of the way, but wasn’t quick enough—

“Daddy Draco, is that for us?”

“No, Lily.” Draco quickly slid it away from her fingers, ignoring the loud complaints from the boys. His patience was frayed; it was already half-three, and he needed fresh marshmallows or the birthday cake would be a failure.

_Not a failure, of course,_ he reminded himself, _but bland. Boring. Not what Harry deserved after all he’d done for me the past six months._

His choices were obvious: he could either skip the decorations and present Harry with a plain chocolate cake or haul them to Tesco. _I could leave them here; I’ll only be 20 minutes. Get what I need and rush back, _he thought. So much easier than taking them.__

__Draco considered leaving the four children (9, 7, 7, and 5) alone for that short time. His brain supplied images of him returning with his plastic sack of marshmallows to find flames engulfing the building with the fading shrieks of the children locked inside._ _

__Or, opening the front door and a flood of red staining him, blood sluicing across the floor from a paring accident gone horribly wrong._ _

__Draco waited for his racing heart to slow before speaking. “Come along,” he said, his voice high with fear. He turned off the telly and earned the kids’ groans. “I have to run to the shop for—”_ _

__“Ice cream??” Scorpius and James shouted. Their argument about which flavor they would buy devolved into a wrestling match on the lounge floor._ _

__Eventually (with a carefully-placed, cushioned stinging hex), Draco led them out of the bakery and onto the pavement toward Tesco. Lily held his hand and chattered about camp, her friends, and her favorite part of the day which had been when Jamie had been sent to the head counselor. Draco sighed; he’d investigate that revelation the next day._ _

__Tesco was more crowded than he’d expected, but the children stayed near him in the candy aisle. He grabbed a package of fat, white marshmallows and dropped them in the buggy. That was all he needed—until he spotted a display of cooking chocolate. Perhaps he could use them for something._ _

__Something._ _

__Immediately, Draco’s imagination spun images of a private celebration with Harry. Flashes of them naked. Draco holding a strawberry above Harry’s lips. Harry stretching, biting into the chocolate-dipped tip, then Draco dragging the over-ripe berry up and down Harry’s cock, which more than filled the generous bite mark. Draco licking away each drop of the scarlet juice as Harry begged him to—_ _

__“Watch the trolley,” Draco said over his shoulder, sidestepping the questions from the kids as he headed toward the produce section. Yes, chocolate-covered strawberries would make this the first of many birthdays to remember. Large, lush berries, sugary and ripe with sweet juice…_ _

__Before his mind played out another hard-core porno for him, Draco grabbed the first box of strawberries he could reach and hurried back to the children, who looked suspiciously angelic, considering Jamie had his hand firmly over Lily’s mouth._ _

__“I won’t even ask,” Draco said, staring each child down, but not one of them cracked. He placed the berries into the trolley. And that was it. M &Ms. Skittles. Revels. Malteasers. Haribo Goldbears. Definitely more than the one package of marshmallows that had been in there when he’d left two minutes ago. Draco ignored the candy in favor of getting back to the bakery and finishing the cake before Harry met them for dinner._ _

__The kids gasped when Draco scanned each bag of candy at the register and dropped them into a sack. “This won’t happen again, so enjoy it,” he said as he handed each child a bag. “And do _not_ eat all of this in one sitting.”_ _

__They returned to the bakery, and Draco turned the kids loose in the lobby, leaving them to their candy and afternoon telly. When he heard the standard argument between Jamie and Lily over who would choose the show, he went back to work._ _

__Draco slid the cake (which had cooled to a perfect high gloss) onto the pedestal stand, and backing carefully through the kitchen’s swinging door, placed the stand on the sales counter for safe keeping. He’d make the six white flowers, attach them to the cake and then hide it until after dinner._ _

__Draco lost himself in the ritual of making the fondant. Melting the marshmallows, folding in the confectioners’ sugar, greasing his hands and kneading the mixture as if it were dough. His mind returned to later that evening, when he and Harry would celebrate privately—starting with champagne (which he had chilling in the refrigerator) and those beautiful strawberries. His brain re-ran the scene from earlier, adding a soundtrack of soft breaths and cut-off moans that made Draco hot and half hard in his pants. At least his chef’s trousers were baggy enough to hide his hard-on until he could will it away._ _

__Draco re-focused on the finished fondant—sealing it in plastic wrap and placing it in the freezer; it wouldn’t work as well as if it sat overnight, but needs must. He tucked his face a bit further into the frigid air; he needed one more hour of concentration before he could give in and imagine Harry’s weight pressing him against the mattress, their bodies slick with sweat as Harry pushed into him. Even the icy air wouldn’t stop the slow burn he felt growing, teasing his balls and cock. Well—he could give in for a minute, maybe two._ _

__Draco thought about going down on Harry, tasting the sweet strawberry juice as he swallowed around him. Merlin, he loved everything about sucking Harry off—not just the taste, but the pressure of his cock on Draco’s tongue as it nudged the back of his throat. The scent of Draco’s expensive soap on Harry’s body mingled with his sweat and need._ _

__Draco palmed his crotch and pressed forward against the refrigerator. He gasped as the slow burn sent tendrils of _want_ through him. But it was too much and not nearly enough, and if he didn’t stop, one of the kids would walk in on him. _ _

__The shop’s front door bells jingled, barely registering in Draco’s daydreaming brain. “Too busy to give a birthday dad a birthday hug?”_ _

__The four children squealed, and Draco heard an umpf and a thump as someone hit the floor amid shrieks and giggles._ _

__Draco panicked as he pulled his chocolate-stained apron over his head and tossed it onto the counter. _What the hell was Harry doing home already?_ On second thought, he quickly put the apron back on without tying the waist ties. At least it would prevent some embarrassment from his raging erection. _ _

__When Draco swung open the door to the lobby, Harry was plucking children off his back and shoulders so that he could stand. His gaze landed on Draco’s apron; Harry’s raised eyebrow and his grin made it clear Draco wasn’t hiding anything._ _

__“Why are you here?” Draco asked, more curt and cut off than he’d intended to sound. He offered Harry a hand up, but Harry waved him away. He rose slowly, complaining of pain in his hips, and Draco suspected the old-man routine was for the children’s benefit._ _

__“You _are_ pretty old,” Scorpius said and elbowed Albus, who laughed along with him._ _

__“Be nice, Scorpius,” Draco smirked. “Papa Harry can’t help it if he’s old.”_ _

__Harry pointed his wand at Draco. “Wait for your birthday,” he threatened. “You’ll be older than me for two months.”_ _

__“What are you going to do to me?” Draco asked, moving in until the wand poked his chest._ _

__Harry didn’t answer. Without breaking their gaze, Harry holstered his wand and took Draco in his arms._ _

__Draco paid no attention to the children’s jeers of _yechhhy, gross kissing._ He couldn’t focus on anything except Harry’s thigh between Draco’s legs, grinding against Draco’s cock. “Happy Birthday to me.”_ _

__“You’re early. I’m not ready for you,” Draco whispered, unable to speak any louder. He was afraid that if he did, he’d lose any control he had._ _

__“I think you are.” Harry gave a final press of his thigh to highlight his double entendre. He leaned in to kiss Draco, but missed his cheek. “Is that for me?” Harry asked, looking over Draco’s shoulder._ _

__Draco groaned, his disappointment flooding back. He knew it was stupid to be upset because the cake would taste okay without the flowers that represented their blended family, but he would _know_ it was never quite what it could have been. “Yeah. I’m sorry it’s not finished.”_ _

__“Don’t be stupid. It’s brilliant.”_ _

__Draco rolled his eyes. _Sure. The ganache made it look good…__ _

__“Yeah, it’s brilliant.” Lily crashed into them and hugged them both around the knees. Her brothers followed, jostling each other as they wrapped their arms around their fathers’ legs._ _

__“And you let the kids decorate it.” Harry kissed Draco’s cheek, his mouth lingering near Draco’s ear. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”_ _

___What?_ _ _

__Draco whirled around, almost toppling Albus and Scorpius, who fell on their bottoms anyway._ _

__His beautiful cake, that he’d left on the counter for safe-keeping._ _

__With its perfect silky ganache._ _

__It was covered in Malteasers. M &Ms. Revels. Skittles. Plunked onto the top. Pushed into the side. Overlapping each other, and in some cases with gummy bears riding atop._ _

__Objectively, it looked like the candy aisle exploded on the cake._ _

__“We made it better, Daddy!” Lily dropped Jamie’s hand and ran to the cake. She grabbed a Goldbear and popped it into her mouth. “Didn’t we?”_ _

__Draco stared at her, the truth in her words overwhelming him. He picked her up and peppered her cheek with kisses. They had made it better. With their Holyhead Harpies walls and their indecorous breakfasts, with their fights that dissolved into laughter. He’d jumped into their lives without reservation, and six months later, he was better than he’d ever been. He barely remembered the Draco he’d been, alone and lonely with only his work and his son._ _

__But Lily was squirming, and the boys were yelling for cake and marshmallows and strawberries. Besides, this wasn’t the time for intimate confessions. That would be later, when he was alone with Harry._ _

__Instead, Draco let Lily slide out of his arms with one final kiss on her cheek. He looked at Harry._ _

__“You sure did, love,” Draco said with a soft smile. “You sure did.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic and will subscribe to me for new fic announcements. The annual [25 Days of Draco and Harry](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/) will be starting December 1. It's legit my favorite time of the year. 25 days to write one giant fic about Drarry!


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